"To dinner?"

Lorelei decided swiftly. She dreaded to be alone with Bob; her
constraint in his presence was painful, and he also, before going
out, had appeared very ill at ease. He had not even made plans for
the evening meal. In view of all this she answered:

"Yes, to dinner. Please, please come."

"What IS the matter?"

"I'll--tell you later."

Miss Demorest yielded, not without some regret. "I was going to
cook the supper myself, and I'm all done up like a sore foot; but
I'll remove the bandages. I suppose you know the potatoes are
peeled and the salad will spoil unless I bring it?"

"Then bring it, and hurry."

Lorelei was not quite sure that Bob would consent to dine in the
modest little home, but under the circumstances idleness was
maddening, so she fell to work. It seemed very odd, when she
thought of it, for the bride of a millionaire to prepare a meal
with her own hands, but anything was preferable to dining out, in
her present frame of mind. This was very different from what she
had expected, but--everything was different. Once the marriage had
become known to Bob's people and he had thoroughly sobered down,
once she had withdrawn from the cast of the Revue, their real life
would begin.